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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30083655">Everlasting: The Star of Nohr</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkpatroller/pseuds/dorkpatroller'>dorkpatroller</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aesthetic Porn, And also porn, Body Worship, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Star au prequel!!!!, almost no context but laslow is a star, not overly graphic but I do say the word cock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:34:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,193</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30083655</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkpatroller/pseuds/dorkpatroller</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander is in love with a man who literally fell from the heavens, and if he can’t have him no one will.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lazward | Laslow/Marx | Xander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Everlasting: The Star of Nohr</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Whispers I didn’t edit this well SORRY</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When he began this tour of Nohr, Prince Xander would have, if asked, confessed to believing there was no light left within it. The country is in a constant state of rebuilding from constant disasters that seem to pile up one after another in a stack so heavy no one man can possibly lift it. The people are weak and need help and the royal family is doing all that it can, but it never seems to be enough. He might even admit that he isn’t eager to take over as king in the coming years.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He would never decline to, of course. Despite the conditions Xander sees constant triumph and beauty layered within the rubble. Nohrians are strong-hearted, strong-willed, and capable people. He has nothing but bubbling, unfettered pride for his country. This is a tunnel. There is no light left in Nohr now, but this tribulation will pass and the light will return to them brighter than ever.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Although if you asked him </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> his opinion may be somewhat different. Months of traveling Nohr independent of a caravan or castle lifestyle has shown him time and again the compassion and resilience of his people, yes, but if you asked him now Xander would say that all of the missing light in Nohr can be found in the brilliant, heaven-filled eyes of a young man named Laslow.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Traveling alone, before he met Laslow, was always relaxing. The time could be passed in the comfortable silence that allows for one to clear their head of everything. There are no nerves about coming days, nor are there regrets about the past… only the chirping of crickets as the hints of an orange sun dip below the horizon. Granted now and then he might wonder what the state of affairs was at home or if anyone has forced little Elise to eat a single vegetable in his absence… but it could all become a blurry image hidden in the back of his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Traveling alone never has and never will scare him. He’s well equipped to handle himself! He’s a strong young man, and even when he’s dressed down in casual leather armor to fit in among his people he is well trained and safe. The most disturbing thing about being alone is simply… the loneliness. It shouldn’t surprise him how few of his people truly know his face, especially this far from the capital, but that a simple leather string to tie his bangs out of his face and the lack of any sort of crown or crest disguises him so well that he travels unnoticed… it reminds him of how dearly he loves his siblings and his home.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>That loneliness dissolved the day he met Laslow. It’s a memory so vivid that when he blinks it flashes behind his eyes like paints splashed over a canvas. On that day Laslow was wearing white, opalescent silks. It was a dancer’s ensemble that exposed his shoulders, his soft collarbone, his toned midriff… which were only covered by a shimmering layer of fine costume glitter. In the painting of his memory, which moves in flashes but not perfect, even flows, he recalls clearly when Laslow stumbled. He was running, beautiful attire billowing behind him. He was weaving and ducking to escape some gruff man chasing after him. He missed a dip in the cobblestone as he ran, yelped as he dropped to a knee and clutched his ankle, and then looked over his shoulder prepared to hobble to safety. It was only when he turned back around that his eyes landed on Xander’s.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Even had he not just felt his entire future settle neatly into place with one mere glimpse of Laslow’s light, Xander would have stepped in. Laslow introduced himself as a man who had nothing to give, but who would happily stay by his side until he found some way to repay a prince in disguise.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Traveling was never quite after that.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Presently Xander finds all of his thoughts occupied with Laslow—even those when he isn’t present. He’s no ordinary man, that much is obvious. If not for the star-shaped birthmark on his hip, his eyes give him away as an ethereal being. Where any normal man’s eyes would be one color or the next, Laslow’s eyes are pools of stars. They’re an indigo sky filled with constellations glistening with flecks of vibrant gold. They’re cosmic clouds billowing past two nearly-imperceptible freckles under his left eye. They’re stunning, but as much as they are beautiful they’re a dead give away that Laslow isn’t human, but a fallen star. Between that and the sparkling, moonlight tone of his hair… well, he stands out. It’s part of what makes him such an impeccable dancer. People are drawn to him from any crowd—his handsomeness cannot be matched by any true mortal.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It’s why he was being chased, to begin with. As a fallen star walking the earth, Laslow is blessed with a power no human can resist: he may grant one wish. As Xander understands it, however, once the wish is granted Laslow will not only lose his ability to walk as a human among them… but his light will flicker out of the night sky forever. It is a price many greedy people are willing to pay, but not Xander.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Xander has fallen for him, of course. At first, he tried to convince himself it was merely a physical attraction to him. All of Nohr is physically attracted to Laslow. When he dances in the starlight the moon pours off of his skin and bathes the audience in his radiance. When his hips sway, when he raises his hands above his head and rhythmically taps his fingers against a tambourine and lowers one eyelid and bats his lashes down until they kiss those damned freckles on his cheek… he winks and humanity swoons. They clap with his song and cheer when he twists or turns or boasts the flexibility of his dance. He is a star that no longer shines in the sky but here in Nohr right before Xander’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It’s after one of those dances that Xander thinks the final straw is approaching. In the safety of their room at a little inn, a room with two small beds both crammed into corners and a modest vanity with a wash bin filled with room temperature water, Laslow is pulling away the bangles and cuffs on his arms. He peels away the jewelry, but—as he often does—he hesitates at a clasp behind his neck. It’s just the look in his eyes, the innocent way he tilts his vision in Xander’s direction. He stands from the side of the bed where he was just removing his boots and he steps closer, socks padding his steps against the cold wooden floor before he brushes his fingers over the clasp himself.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Laslow is poison. He’s a drug, he’s addicting. When Xander’s fingers just barely graze his skin on his neck it’s like a dam breaking open. He wants to know more. He wants to touch his neck, run the pads of his fingers past the nape of his neck and through his silvery hair, catch them in a gentle fist and pull him closer to kiss…</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He lowers his hands to his sides once the clasp is undone. “Thank you,” Laslow softly coos, and he settles the final piece of jewelry on the table for tomorrow. There are times when Xander is sure that he must be trying to flirt. Laslow has an unsettling adoration for romantic fiction or acts of affection he sees in passing. He speaks openly to Xander about a desire to know what it feels like to be In love, to experience something so impossible and wonderful.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The days when he practices his flirting on Xander are torture. Those winks, that sweet smile, the warmth of his fingers sliding into Xander’s hand… those are the days when it feels impossible. Laslow is a being unlike any he has ever or will ever meet again. He’s a step short of a god, created for the heavens and destined one day to return to them. He doesn’t belong to Xander and he never should—no man or woman should be allowed to bog him down with something as petty as humanity. And yet Laslow longs for humanity every day. He longs to know more, see more, feel more. He wants to experience this world to its fullest. He wants to find a happily ever after, and he doesn’t care about the dangers of being hunted for his wish.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The days when he practices flirting on other people are hellish misery. As much as Xander can’t bear to imagine himself tainting something as pure and perfect as this man he’s come to love… the idea of </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone else </span>
  </em>
  <span>doing so might drive him to scream. When Laslow is surrounded by men or women alike who are drawn to his beauty or his dances it invokes a fit of jealousy so irrational in Xander that… well, he’s reminded that he’s one of the selfish men and women he’s trying to protect Laslow from. He finds himself thinking that if he can’t have Laslow, no other person should… but who is he to decide?</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Laslow pushes himself gently to his feet, but not a breath goes by before he stumbles. Xander opens his arms only to close them a moment later around Laslow’s waist. First, he merely catches him in an embrace, but as he steadies on his feet he allows his hands to settle, perhaps improperly, at his waist. Laslow’s fingertips curl into the rolled, cuffed-up fabric of Xander’s white shirt. His thumbs rub gentle circles against the inside of Xander’s elbows, and he tilts his forehead forward until it rests on Xander’s chest with a defeated laugh. “Are you alright?” Xander barely mumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t want this moment to ever end. He’ll die at this moment. Laslow’s bangs are tickling Xander’s chest where his shirt is unbuttoned in a low v. His breath is warm through the fabric of his shirt, his weight is so comfortable on his arms… but Laslow nods his head and chuckles again. “Yes! Yes, I’m sorry to bother you,” He answers. He leans back, though not fully out of the embrace, and he dips his head to one side while he smiles so brilliantly that it could destroy worlds. It’s certainly destroyed Xander’s. “Just a bit unsteady there for a moment, love. I’m fine now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Love is the word that makes Xander stay close when he would normally step back. It feels like an accusation--like Laslow read into his soul and </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> how desperately Xander wants him… and exploits it. He’s too good for that, of course. If he were going to accuse Xander of anything he would do it clearly and to the point--he’s demonstrated that he has no sense of self-preservation several times, to say the least. It’s a page that Xander takes from his book because he stays put while Laslow raises his arms away from Xander’s elbows and instead hooks them playfully around his shoulders. It exaggerates the difference in their height, that Laslow has to stand on the tips of his toes to reach Xander’s neck with his arms… but that if Xander tilted his head down just right their lips could meet in the middle in a kiss that Xander has repeatedly dreamed of. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve seen couples dance in positions like this,” Laslow murmurs. His eyes are focused on Xander’s mouth for a moment, but they flicker upwards a second later. “Slow dances. Would you teach me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To slow dance,” Xander says more than asks. Laslow shakes his head gently, slowly. Time is slowed down just for them. They’ve never touched like this before. It feels vulnerable. It’s hard to tell if Laslow even knows what he’s doing or what horrible, marvelous feelings he’s invoking. And then, all at once, Xander comes to the rapid understanding that Laslow knows </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> what he’s doing. It’s about the time that he leans up and grazes his teeth along Xander’s lower lip… and then he presses forward and properly kisses him in a way that makes it hard to believe he never has before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he pulls away Xander’s breath catches in his throat, but Laslow shakes his head again while he taps a playful finger against Xander’s lower lip. “No, darling. I’ve figured out the dance. I’d like to know what it’s like for us to be a couple.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Xander starts to take a step away from Laslow then. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>know what he’s doing--he’s trying to win affection and maybe even something more and he’s doing a damned good job of it. He’s barely taken the step backward when Laslow’s hand snatches up his wrist. Xander follows Laslow’s cosmic gaze from their hands until they’re eye to eye, and Laslow has a pink hue over his cheeks. It melts into his skin in a way that Xander sees rarely because as shy as Laslow can be when he feels inferior, he’s blossomed into such a proud, handsome man in his short time as a human. Xander lifts him up, encourages him, helps work through the emotions Laslow has never felt or even known of before… and it’s always a shame to see that involuntary humiliation creep back into his complexion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y-You’re rejecting me?” Laslow stumbles through his words like he’s missed a step in a dance. He can recover gracefully or fall. Xander wants more than anything to help him keep his dignity, but… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Laslow… Sit with me.” He pulls the still wounded-looking Laslow with him to the side of the bed and he sits, facing him and with his hand still held. Laslow’s fingers twitch when Xander brushes his thumb along them, but he waits to be reprimanded. Xander has sat with him and explained before what things are unsafe, what people shouldn’t be trusted. He hates to imply that he is one of them, but… “I know that you want to experience humanity to its fullest, but there is not a man among us who is deserving of your love. Least of all me--not when my future is bound to the crown. I won’t always be free to court you properly or take you on grand adventures when I am a king.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Laslow’s brows knit together, but before he can argue Xander goes on to say “If you seek love in another, I will do my best to ensure they treat you with respect.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That is what sets Laslow’s eyes alight and causes every star within them to explode like suns. He sucks in a sharp breath and before Xander knows it he pounces, pushing them both back with a tumble onto the sheets. Laslow doesn’t weigh so much that Xander can’t throw him aside, but for a few seconds he’s caught in the shock of it all. Laslow holds his wrists down at his sides and he’s seated with his legs perfectly straddling Xander’s chest… but he doesn’t look seductive anymore. Now he’s clearly angry. “I don’t want to love another!” He scoffs. “Nor do I think my love can be assigned or reassigned however you decide. My heart is set on you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Xander’s heart slows to a gentle beat, an affectionate, slow pace while he watches Laslow’s expression boil down from rage to curiosity while he waits for a counter-argument. Xander’s voice rumbles just above a whisper. “I fear I won’t be worthy of the love of someone like you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Laslow’s eyes soften too. His lashes come down to cover the hazy stars within them and he hums while he peers down through lidded galaxies. He is a piece of the heavens themselves. “I have known gods, my prince, and none of them compare to you. Please. Will you really reject my affection?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could never. Laslow flashes him a shimmery smile and leans down until their lips brush again. Xander remembers he has functioning arms shortly after, and he frees his wrists from Laslow’s hold so he can reach up and hold his face. He pulls him down closer and harder until he coaxes a startled moan out of his throat. Laslow pulls his lips back with a chuckle so light that Xander can feel the joy radiating from him like a sunbeam. He smiles too, guiding him back for another, chasing the high of these first kisses, and he admits something that’s been obvious all along. “I can deny you nothing.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll try not to let it go to my head,” Laslow coos, nearly giggles, and dips down to kiss him again. Another wall falls away. The throne, his merit, if he truly deserves the affections of what he can only consider to be a sort of demigod… each touch of Laslow’s soft lips makes him forget anything beyond his desire to have more. “Although I wonder if it’s true.” Laslow’s hand slides down to the v of Xander’s shirt and with unjust aptitude manages to unbutton it further. Before any protest can be made--not that Xander intended to protest at this point--Laslow goes on to make himself very clear. “If you think I am so pure that no human deserves me, I want you to ruin me. Hold me, use me, love me, and when the time comes let me grant your wish. I want to be yours.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps in his right mind Xander might realize that Laslow has no need to learn what love is, he’s already been in love just as deeply as Xander has. He’s known the desperate desire to hold him, and he’s kept it at bay simply to be sure his affections would be returned. In the state of mind he’s faced with now, however, he thinks only of saying yes. He pulls Laslow over him--chuckles at his little yelp--and he rolls him back onto the sheets carelessly. He kisses him until every piece of Laslow relaxes. His legs gently bent at the knee, his fingers clinging helplessly at Xander’s open shirt, his jaw lax to allow Xander to do anything he likes. His moan is a whine for more, a desperate plea to be shown all there is to feel, all there is to taste and experience. It’s a vulgar setting. Xander is a prince, he could have afforded him flowers and fine wine and a softer bed… but none of that matters so much as the heat of Laslow’s body when he arches his back and pulls down on Xander’s shoulder for more attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As a matter of fact Xander </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> believe Laslow to be too pure for this. He thinks that every rosey bite he leaves along Laslow’s pale jaw is a sin. Everywhere he drags his fingernails and leaves pink marks, even in the way he drags his tongue over his body as he undresses him further. It’s like looking at a pure white canvas of snowfall, untouched by paw prints or sleds or soldiers marching to war. Except… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...Except with every moan that spills past his lips, every filthy plea on his pristine lips, and every angry red mark on his skin Laslow becomes even more beautiful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Xander hesitates. “Stop what?” He asks. The kissing? The way he’s circling the pads of his fingers along Laslow’s rim? The slightly-too-rough grip he has on Laslow’s thigh? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Staring,” Laslow exhales with a shudder. Beneath him, admittedly, he’s gorgeous. His chest is splattered pink from both kisses and heat rising into his skin. He’s flushed, a little worked up with sweat, he has his hand curled loosely around his own cock, and he’s absolutely stunning. He could be a painting, a sculpture, a dream… “Yes, love. Like that. Stop it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Xander, ungracefully, fails to hold in a tiny snort. “You’re asking too much of me,” He hums. He does drag his eyes away from Laslow’s body. He nuzzles his nose against Laslow’s neck and breathes him in. The smell of him, the heat of his body. If this is a dream he’d like to stay here. But without much more hesitation he leans, stretches to reach without leaving his spot happily settled between Laslow’s thighs, and he blows the lantern at the bedside. There’s still another across the room, but shadows wash over Laslow and shortly after so does a hint of relief. So while he is there Xander fetches the oil they’ll need and when he settles back into place he watches the distant candle light flicker romantically over Laslow’s skin. He resumes exactly what he was doing all the same, of course. This time with oil he rubs circles at his rim with the pads of his fingertips, but now Laslow relaxes even further. He melts into the touch, and Xander wonders just where such shyness and humility comes from when he can seduce a man without a second thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t call it staring,” Xander murmurs with a trail of kisses along Laslow’s ear. He listens, thrilled, to Laslow’s sharp gasp when his fingers finally press past his rim. He feels him squirm and it admittedly fills him with butterflies that Laslow tries to keep his pace. “When I see you I am captivated by every pore of your skin.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels Laslow’s exasperated laugh rather than hears it. It’s a gentle huff that raises his chest and spikes his pulse against Xander’s lips. “And yet I had to force you to have me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Xander shakes his head. He’ll never be able to explain the feeling. He’s ruining something today, but he’s also making it better. It’s a metamorphosis that will make them both better men. So as he slips his fingers out of place and gently pushes Laslow’s thighs open wider he does his best to show it, rather than say it. If he’s meant to have Laslow then he’ll be sure that Laslow enjoys every second of his time. Now and in the future, not a day will go by where Laslow’s smile isn’t the light of Nohr.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he gasps this time it’s much sharper. He curls his arms around Xander’s shoulders and tucks his face into his neck and he pants out his breaths while Xander sinks deeper. He doesn’t let go when he’s through either, just keeps those breaths steady and then, finally, kisses Xander’s neck to let him know he survived the ordeal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once Laslow learns how to move again he doesn’t stop. He pulls Xander’s hair, bites at his lip, meets each thrust with fire and volume perhaps inappropriate for an inn with such thin walls. His touches come in two parts, of course. When he bites too hard and Xander can’t help a tiny noise of discomfort, or when he pulls at his curls and he knows it’s too much, he always leaves behind a gentle kiss to make it better. His heartfelt, little apologies drive Xander wild, overwhelm him with the need to make him do it again. To fuck him so hard into these thin sheets that Laslow’s nails dig into his arms and make him bleed, because he can’t control it yet. Because he’s so new to these feelings, he’s experiencing a pleasure completely new for the first time… it must be overwhelming.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d like to say he isn’t obsessed, that this isn’t going to be a problem that proves to weaken him for the rest of his life, but he’s not a liar. He’s hopelessly obsessed with every pant, every noise, every bat of Laslow’s eyes. Harder and harder, faster and faster, spurned simply by what he can do to him to draw out the most reaction until he’s rewarded for his efforts. The way Laslow’s brows crease, his eyes screw shut, the air leaves his lungs all at once… Xander’s hips stutter to a stop and he withdraws only to allow himself the dirty pleasure of cuming along Laslow’s thighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence hangs in the air for several seconds after that. Laslow drops his arms above his head and stares at the ceiling. Xander watches the rise and fall of his chest. He thinks about the hickey next to his perfectly pink nipple. He watches pearly cum dribble between his legs and down the side of his belly. He--”Gods, Prince, you’re staring again. Am I so enchanting?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Laslow baps Xander’s leg with the inside of his knee. It’s a pathetic gesture empty of all remains of energy. Xander hums at him and leans closer to kiss his chin, his jaw, and finally his lips. “You are. Enchanting, radiant, the center of my world in this moment. Is it so wrong to stare?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Laslow’s lips part in a little ‘o’ while he realizes Xander isn’t toying with him. He laughs to himself, closes his eyes, and tilts his head to face the wall. “Then I suppose you may stare as long as you wish. I’ll be yours as long as you’ll have me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Endlessly, then,” Xander decides. “Until the day I die, and everlasting.” </span>
</p>
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